


Midnight Impressions

by Joy_in_the_House



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Hospitals, Medical, Observations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:17:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joy_in_the_House/pseuds/Joy_in_the_House
Summary: What does a hospital look like at night? When it's not as busy, almost dead.
Kudos: 2





	Midnight Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> This was written February of 2017, hope someone loves it almost as much as I do.   
Any similarities to any hospital is not intended.

It is quiet tonight at (Arlington Memorial) Hospital. There appears to be no one around. The staff, however, are there. They are in their places and they move quickly; efficiently. None of them stops - even for a minute. A hospital is not a companionable place; not at night- indeed, it never truly is at any time- and in the back of anyone's mind is the thought of leaving: no one wants to be here at 11:32 at night.   
  
A trauma ward aide stands at the reception desk, listening to the intercom. Normally it is loud with jabbering and bickering between [ambulance] drivers. Tonight, however, it is filled with static. Bored, she goes back to her paperwork.   
  
Further down, there is a nursing station. Deserted, there is a flashing light on the room map for this floor. A patient call light. After a moment, it stops flashing. Did the patient just not require assistance? Or was there more?   
  
The artificial lighting is harsh, and- combined with the whiteness of the walls- gives the hallway a bleakly sterility that is common to most hospitals. It is one of the primary reasons that hospitals are so feared. After all, no one wants to be in a hospital at 11:41 at night.   
  
Not far from the nursing station is the trauma ward. Some nights it is filled to the seams with trauma victims; other nights- like tonight\- it is empty. The neat rows of gurneys line the room, each one shining.   
It is a solemn sight. There is a degree of (dignity) in this scene, but there is always a question: What would happen to make it fill up? What would be the factor to cause that much chaos? Too many questions for 11:59 at night.   
  
There is a bend in the hallway just beyond, and an offshoot room on the right. This small room is empty, except for two hunched-over, trembling figures. From seemingly nowhere comes a surgeon, almost collapsed with exhaustion, and one figure jumps up. It is a fairly young man, and the look on his face is equal parts inexplicable hope, and crippling fear.   
Quietly the surgeon says something, and the man almost falls, but he catches himself on the chair. Quickly he follows the surgeon, his face crazed with relief.   
Silently the other man sits, waiting; tormented by the unknown.   
  
There is an alarm, and heard is a "Code Blue: floor 4, C22!" Running footsteps can be heard, and two white-coated doctors fly by. An alarm is buzzing at the nurses' station, and above it all rises a wailing. When the wailing stops, so does the buzzer.   
  
  
With the sudden silence comes a pop-up on the screen outside the nursing station: "TOD: 12:06 a.m."  
  
Another one is gone. The population of this hospital is dwindling. After all, no one wants to be here at 12:07 at night. 


End file.
